DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He waited. Sometimes there were rebuttals, wrinkled noses, a sort of defiance that came with youth and the yearning to never make mistakes. When they weren’t immersed into the void, and the courier seemed grateful for the platitudes, he nodded, intending to watch the persistence. Angles were corrected, chopping motions maintained, and though not in quick succession, the target was pummeled and whacked over and over again – to some satisfying degree.
He wouldn’t tell Talyson why he found it so amusing, but nevertheless, striding forward again. “Well done.” Some of the pieces had fallen and looked well beyond repair – which was also smugly pleasing – so he raised them once more, permitting the shards to flicker and twist, turning a little over in the air, as if blown by a gentle breeze. “Do not be afraid to use more torque in your movements, when you are comfortable.” It would likely come in more experience and practice; Deimos certainly didn’t expect it in the here and now.
Gripping his ax once more, he turned his frame back into its residual stance. “You can also commit to a backhand strike.” He raised the ax differently about shoulder level, with his opposite hand becoming a check and balance proportion – ensuring the weapon wouldn’t return with such a blunt force back into his own figure. It doubled as a defensive posture too. The Sword turned the armament so the blade seemed sideways, before maneuvering it outward, hitting a broken portion of the Flood’s skull. Another repeat of the gesture followed several more times, sometimes purposefully slowed down.
Then he stepped back and away, intending for the pattern of performance.
He wouldn’t tell Talyson why he found it so amusing, but nevertheless, striding forward again. “Well done.” Some of the pieces had fallen and looked well beyond repair – which was also smugly pleasing – so he raised them once more, permitting the shards to flicker and twist, turning a little over in the air, as if blown by a gentle breeze. “Do not be afraid to use more torque in your movements, when you are comfortable.” It would likely come in more experience and practice; Deimos certainly didn’t expect it in the here and now.
Gripping his ax once more, he turned his frame back into its residual stance. “You can also commit to a backhand strike.” He raised the ax differently about shoulder level, with his opposite hand becoming a check and balance proportion – ensuring the weapon wouldn’t return with such a blunt force back into his own figure. It doubled as a defensive posture too. The Sword turned the armament so the blade seemed sideways, before maneuvering it outward, hitting a broken portion of the Flood’s skull. Another repeat of the gesture followed several more times, sometimes purposefully slowed down.
Then he stepped back and away, intending for the pattern of performance.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
